Window panes
On remembering of a second meeting of someone I had known
A morning prayer about you lit off of my cigarette. It stung my eyes. Most of it swirled away in a pattern of beautiful chaos. I can’t write about the most of it.
Back then, a part of you wasn’t crazy. I rode that borderline watching the waves crash. I tried to meet you so many times. And you know you took it out on me.
The finished stained glass mosaic is a story on why I sat still in that window seat. Prayed out and dissipated in exhaust strung on the edges of the bar room ceiling.
Bright rays moved up to the place I sat. Golden glass filtered the dust in light. Particles hung over a happenstance wooden table. And I was trapped there in light.
I know that must be how you saw me. You weren’t stalking me this time. You graced into the bar and I heard you say my name. I saw your pretty face was kept, not crazy.
I knew right away that the most of me had already left you. So we got to meet twice for the first time. Chance’s window panes. Smoke and silence with nothing to say.
It’s crazy that I didn’t know that part of you until right then. We used to laugh about pretty girls become dolls. You were passive so I didn’t have to admit anything to theft.